Epilogue #2
On a roll, on a sprint, on a jet plane, motherfucker—I couldn’t be stopped!
Until…
“Sunshine, you were supposed to drink water.”
Caine stood over me as I starfished across our new kitchen’s white penny-tile. He hummed as he opened and closed cabinets until he founded the glasses—bottom left, where even I could reach—and filled me a glass.
I groaned as I sat up to sip from it, Caine crouched beside me with his hand splayed across my back. As if I’d have rolled backwards without his arm buttressing me.
Which, to be fair, very possible.
“You know you’re not responsible for unpacking the entire house, right?” he said with mild amusement. “And that every box doesn’t have to be emptied today?”
Sippy sip, eye roll. “My brain knows that,” I said. “My omega, on the other hand, has the zoomies like you wouldn’t believe.”
He called me his sunshine, but Caine’s smile toasted me in joy. Once such a rare sweet treat, now given freely.
Mostly freely.
Grump still be grumpin’, sometimes.
Didn’t we all, though?
Oh, man, this preheat is spinning my brain.
Image of a circus performer spinning plates on a stick. A mouse dancing on top. In a plumed hat.
I groaned, shoving my palms against my eyes. “Fucking hell, Omega, chill the fuck out!” I shouted at myself.
Caine looked up as footsteps sounded behind us and the scent of palo santo and eucalyptus hugged me from behind.
Wait, nope. Those were arms.
“All right, sweetness,” Brooks hummed in my ear as he helped me stand. “You’re going to take a nap and rest that beautiful body of yours.”
I scoffed. “Yeah, tell that to the omega sprinting circles in my skin.”
My beta grinned, dimples out in full force, as he held up a pink sugar-dusted cube. I cocked a brow. “Ummm…”
“Not a pharmaceutical,” he said. “En-tiiiiiiire-ly natural.”
I scrunched my face in suspicion.
“You could say,” he continued, “it’s four hundred twenty percent all-natural.”
I crossed my arms. Granted, I wasn’t opposed to a li’l MJ action, but my omega was wary of anything that would slow her down.
Brooks held the edible closer in front of my face. His voice had an enticing lilt to it as he sang, “It’s grapefruit flavored!”
Dude, why didn’t you start there?
I ate the cube straight from his palm like a tiny manic horse. The guys had moved the sofa inside, though it sat catty wampus in the middle of the box-filled living area.
Don’t care.
Soft.
Sleeeeeeep.
Lin
Taryn slept for nine hours straight as we moved in around her.
She barely stirred, even when Caine stubbed his toe and the bottom of one of Brea’s boxes collapsed and Brooks crouched beside her on the couch to snag a bunch of conked-out-Taryn selfies.
Not even when Caine and I lifted the couch she slept on to move it into proper position.
Nope. On she dreamed. With the quietest, cutest kitten snores ever.
The rest of us got a fair amount done. All the furniture had been carried to the correct rooms. Our pack bedroom had the necessities within reach. And Brea had added her sweaty t-shirt she’d worn all day to the attic nest.
Close to midnight, our omega finally stirred, stretching like a cat before blinking her eyes open. The rest of us sat quietly on the sofa and armchair drinking tea, doing crosswords, scrolling on phones.
Impatiently waiting for the THC to wane so our omega would wake so we could blow her mind with her ready-to-go forever-nest.
Taryn gave a sleepy, lazy grin. “Gooooood nap,” she murmured as she raised her arms in another languid stretch.
Brea snorted as she jotted letters down in her book. “More like good coma, Teacup. It’s almost midnight.”
“Aw, damn.” She sat up slowly, looking around.
“No worries," I assured her with a clasp on her knee. “Plenty of boxes ready for you. After you’ve had your rest.”
She flopped back onto the couch cushions. “You take such good care of me, Alpha.”
Butterflies erupted in my belly. They did every time she called me Alpha in that tone. Scooting closer, I brushed my fingers down her face. A loving caress, but also a gauge.
Our omega was warm.
Another day or two, maybe, until her heat truly began.
I shot quick glances to my other packmates, who each nodded and stood from their seats, converging on us.
“We wanna show you something,” I said as I knitted her fingers with mine and stood.
She followed easily. “Is it a puppy?”
“Fuck, no,” Caine growled from behind me.
Five pairs of feet pounded up the stairs.
“Oh!” she said as we made our way down the hallway, passing by all the bedrooms. “Did you finally get the candle mixture right?”
Multiple of us groaned. Brooks gagged.
Taryn had been trying for months to make a candle that combined all our scents: toffee and cream, pomegranate and vanilla, blackberry and mint, blood orange and cinnamon, burning palo santo and eucalyptus.
Yes, our aromatic tapestry appealed to us, but trying to get the right mix with oils and artificials had, thus far, utterly failed. Every concoction either tickled our noses or gave Caine and Taryn migraines. Or stank up the apartment so badly we'd evacuated to a hotel.
Twice.
“Yeah, that’s a hard no,” Brooks said.
We approached the last door on the left.
The first tendrils of confusion unfurled in Taryn’s bond. “But that’s the attic.”
“Yes, it is,” I said as I opened the door and motioned for her to go up.
Confusion faded into realization as she looked from face to face, as though waiting for another nope, wrong guess. We simply waited.
Her excitement in the bond felt like a hummingbird’s wings, flapping against my heart, as she slowly ascended the enclosed staircase and passed through the pocket door at the top. We followed carefully, reverentially, behind.
Taryn had been dreaming and planning for her nest for years. Even before she’d met Brea, her apartment with her grandmother hadn’t had a nest just for her. So we’d had no shortage of sketches, inspiration photos, wish lists, and shopping bookmarks to go from.
The attic’s pitched roofline was the perfect cozy nest ceiling, making the space feel small and secure.
We’d added drywall and painted it a soft sage green in eggshell, then Brea had added swirls and simple designs in a glossy paint of the same shade.
Forest green netting draped from the ceiling, adding an even more cave-like sense of enclosure.
Firm padding covered the entire floor, soft enough to sleep on without hindering movement, and covered in a heat-specific forest green velvet-like cover that could be removed for washing.
Scattered across the room were dozens—literally—of pillows and blankets of every size and weight and texture.
Fluffy rose pink pillow the size of my torso.
Silver blanket with a wide knit to encourage airflow.
Dark brown cushion large enough for our omega, and maybe even Brooks, to curl up and sleep on top of.
Gold and green weighted blanket big enough for at least three of us.
Wedges and cylinders, and more than a few full-length body pillows in various hues.
So on and so forth.
As per Brea’s insistence, there was no big light, only a string of lights that rimmed the ceiling, casting a low, warm glow over all of us. It connected to a dimmer, though even the brightest setting should be gentle enough on a sensitive omega’s eyes.
Caine rubbed his hand along Taryn’s arm as she stared around the nest in shock. “That door,” he said softly, pointing to a door just to my right, “goes to a small bathroom. It’s a tight squeeze, but when we need a quick rinse—”
“Or to take a piss,” Brooks put in helpfully.
“—it’ll get the job done,” Caine finished out between gritted teeth.
Brea squeezed by us, taking her mate’s hand and leading her to a small hutch in the corner.
We’d painted it to match and blend in with the sage green walls, complete with Brea’s contrasting embellishments.
“And here, we’ve got space for plenty of rations.
Snacks, water, even an ice chest for meats and cheeses and fruit. ”
We’d tested five different ones, choosing the one that had kept ice frozen for five days, even in direct sunlight.
A brown wicker basket in the corner would be a heat-week hamper.
The bathroom was stocked with more towels than we could use in two heats.
(Hopefully, anyway.) And one cabinet of the hutch hid a cloth basket filled with lube, vibrators, rope, cuffs—everything any of us thought our lust-crazed omega could want for herself or us.
Once the heat passed, a switch on the wall would open the specially designed vents that would air the space out, giving it a fresh clean feel for the next heat. Or, really, whenever our omega wanted. This was her space. Her sanctuary. Her cozy cave, to do with as she pleased in between heats.
“Anything that’s not right,” I murmured in her ear as she stared around the room, mouth agape, “anything you don’t like, we can change. Whatever it is.” I kissed her temple and let her take it all in.
Taryn exhaled an incredulous laugh. “Not right?” She turned toward us, eyes shining and the color high in her cheeks. “It’s like you plucked it directly from my brain. It’s…” Tears leaked down her face as she tackled me in a hug, the two of us stumbling back against the wall.
No worries—we’d used a durable and easy-to-clean and touch up outdoor paint.
I returned her embrace, burying my nose in her hair.
“This is all yours, sweet Omega,” I whispered. “No other omega has ever, or will ever, have this room. Only ever yours.”
Her shoulders shook with sobs. I’d have been concerned, except her bond absolutely flooded me with euphoric joy.
The rest of them piled on, a crushing weight of squeezing arms around us.
In other words, pure heaven.